Chapter Thirteen
by sunchi11d
Summary: WRITTEN AS A 10TH GRADE ENGLISH ASSIGNMENT.


_Lord of the Flies_: Chapter 13

Ralph stared blankly at the water beneath the cruiser. His elbows leaned against the railing, allowing the metal to singe his skin. They had been on here for two days now; their hair trimmed to its former glory, their teeth brushed to a pearly sheen, new clothes to match the latter, and their physical traces of savagery gone. It was hard to tell if any of the boys really changed, though; no one spoke to each other, save for Samneric, who were beginning to be known as separate entities again; the boys saw each other constantly, but only exchanged awkward glances in the quiet. And every time Ralph got one of those glances, he was back on the island, running for his life.

Someone came behind him. Ralph didn't bother to turn to see them.

"Ralph," it was Jack's voice, striking an unusual needy tone, "Ralph!"

Ralph turned to avoid having his name said further. He didn't speak.

"We can do it. We can go back to the island, you and me and the hunters and the littluns. We can start over, and do it right this time. We can be a family."

Ralph did nothing to respond. He only looked passed Jack to the water on he other side of the ship.

"C'mon, Ralph. We could do it right."

Ralph's eyes moved slowly to meet Jack's. There was nothing in them, no hate, no forgiveness, nothing that would ever spark to be more than a glance. Jack, frustrated by this, turned away, knowing that he wasn't painted and was vulnerable to this look.

He walked off, his hands in his pockets and mumbling something unheard. Ralph looked back to the ocean in front of him.

The next morning, Jack sat at a table in the mess hall. Breakfast had already passed, but he still sat there, playing with his knife. It was the only symbol he had kept of the island, and now it was completely useless. For a moment he considered plunging it into his chest, but that passed after a while. It was still practical, wasn't it? Yes, it was always practical to have a knife, in case of emergencies…

He couldn't bare to continue the thought. He couldn't bare to look at the knife anymore. He set it down quietly and left. He could always buy another when he got home. His stomach turned cold at the thought.

The train ride was quieter than the cruiser, particularly because they were closer to where they once were than most of them had ever thought they would be. Everyone sat looking out the windows, even those unfortunate enough to have aisle seats. There weren't even awkward glances anymore, just eyes peering outside to a familiarly foreign landscape. It was like a dream twice visited.

The train moved so fast that it didn't seem to move at all. This made the boys even more eager to get off. Their brown faces were contorted in confusion every time they woke up, expecting the palm fronds as a ceiling or the smell of pork to still be wafting in the air.

However, Roger woke up fully aware of where he was and where they were going. They were going back to the place where he couldn't indulge in his compulsions, where he would need to paint his face with something invisible that would suppress instead of liberate him. They were going home.

The train station was packed with parents in complete awe. To think that their children, once thought dead, were back, left them completely dumbstruck. The entire area was left in stressed silence, even those that weren't involved kept their lips buttoned.

The littluns came out first, most of them rubbing their eyes from just waking up. At once, the numb voice boxes were thawed. The squeals of excitement from the children and parents set the room alive again. Hugs and kisses were given, received, and given again.

However, two parents were left empty-handed. Ralph looked out from the window and saw familiar black hair and familiar serene eyes. He got off, the first of the bigguns to attempt the journey. His knees almost collapsed when he set foot on the marble tile, his soul being the dragging force. He walked swiftly, almost running to them and then stopped about five feet away, as if a force field was preventing him to go any further.

"Are you…?" he began, though they had already known his question before it had even come to his lips.

"Yes. We're Simon's parents," the husband spoke with a pained smile. The wife almost choked out tears. He carefully put his hand on her elbow, as if to calm her. "We thought that coming here would give us some closure."

Ralph stood still, searching for words to answer a question that was not asked. He used words before spoken, "It was an accident."

The smile the husband had softened a degree, "Thank you."

Some of the other boys began coming out the train, Samneric came running out as soon as they had seen their parents, Maurice as soon as he had seen his sister. Roger simply stood in the doorframe, even after he had found his parents.

It wasn't until his mother saw him and cried out that he felt obliged to get off the train. She grabbed him and whispered religious "thank-you"'s while his father looked at him the way a man looks at his superior. He knew there had been a change in his son, as did his wife, but he chose to see it.

Jack was the last to get off. He was the one exception to those looking out the window. He had simply stared at the same spot in the carpet for the entire train ride. There was no thought, no movement, no purpose. He regretted not thrusting the knife through himself.

"Jack Merridew?" an official's voice called out.

He stood and mechanically went out of the train. His eyes hurt from the light; he put his hand over his head until he recognized his brother.

"Where're mum and pop?" he asked casually; it was the only thing that could come out of his mouth upon seeing his brother's face.

"They're in the car," he replied, in a voice just as casual. He turned to leave, not particularly caring if he followed or not. Jack followed.

Simon's parents had left, as did most of the other parents. Ralph sat against a bench, not needing to sit on it, but needing some amount of support. He asked himself if Piggy's Aunt Clara would be coming, perhaps for closure as well. He doubted it. It was that night again, and he was alone in the dark.

"Ralph?"

Ralph looked up and saw a face that he felt he had only seen in dreams. It was his father, standing as straight as a soldier, his smile making this posture crumble until he was trembling with tears.

Ralph stood and ran to him, as fast as he had on the island.


End file.
